


Remember Remember

by Joulez



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Community: Suitsmeme, Complete, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-25
Updated: 2012-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-02 12:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joulez/pseuds/Joulez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memory was a strange thing, for one it shaped the person you were suppose to be; yet you were helpless as to which memories you kept and which you forgot when the moment passed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember Remember

Memory was a strange thing, for one it shaped the person you were supposed to be; yet you were helpless as to which memories you kept and which you forgot when the moment passed. It was the thing that could let you look back on things and think fondly of them or remember a time when things had been bad. For Mike Ross it was the one thing that meant he could remember everything, he didn't have the luxury of forgetting as others did, they were always there clear as anything in his mind. At that moment in time he was trying his hardest not to remember the sound of tearing metal, to not have the phantom taste of blood in his mouth. It was the only drawback to having an eidetic memory, he couldn't ever seem to forget, couldn't stop the images from replaying in his mind when he tried to sleep or the faint echo of someone crying.

Mike would usually be able to ignore all of that, focus on a different memory, something unimportant and one that didn't mean he couldn't sleep at night. But as it grew closer to That Day the memory seemed to permeate more into his daily routine, even when he'd gotten high he couldn't seem to forget. The memory would be less brutal, less prominent but it would still be there. Of course this year it wasn't possible, Trevor had been told to leave and was presumably somewhere in Montana and he now didn't have anyone to get high with; not that he would he'd made a promise to Harvey after all.

Rubbing at his eyes, he tried to focus on the form he was meant to be filling in, so far all he'd managed was the client’s name. He was tired, over worked (which was a normal occurrence nowadays) and he just couldn't seem to concentrate. It was late, really late, if the stiffness in his neck was anything to go by and the fact he was obviously on his own. Resting his face in his hands, he wished that he could skip the next day – or was it today? He'd lost track of time around ten that evening – maybe claim he was ill or something? But he knew that wouldn't work, he might be tired but everyone had seen him during the day and he hadn't looked ill. Maybe, just maybe, if he slept a bit now, while it was quiet and there was no one around, tomorrow (today?) wouldn't be so bad...maybe. Pillowing his head in his arms, Mike let himself drift off to sleep, _just for a few minutes_ , he told himself.

_Crunching metal made his ears hurt, it was like nails on a chalk board. He couldn't recall exactly what he was meant to be doing; he did know that his tongue felt too big for his mouth, that his throat hurt when he tried to speak and that something was digging rather painfully into his side. Lifting his head up from the window – or what was left of it – Mike tried to find his parents, his vision was hazy; like trying to see in the dark when you first turned the light out._

All he could make out was some twisted shapes in front of him, reaching his hand out, ignoring the burning sensation of pain at his shoulder, he managed to touch the strange objects. Material, soft material was under his fingers, it was slightly sticky, but he could still recognise it as his mother’s top. He tried to shake her awake, but was restricted by his seatbelt, taking his hand away he tried to push himself further forward, only to see that his hand was covered in something. Panic began curling its way through him, he wanted to get out, wanted to be held by his mum, wanted to be told that everything was going to be okay. He didn't want to be here, trapped inside the car, on his own, he began crying. There was a sound to his left, it sounded almost like voices, voices that he knew well, voices that were getting closer...

Mike woke with a start, the stack of sheets he'd been using to lean on falling to the floor, looking over the top of his cubicle he found the source of noise that had pulled him from his nightmarish memories; the other associates arriving for the day. Scrubbing at his eyes, he looked down at his watch, the one that his grandma had given him a few months back, and for a moment he thought he saw his hands covered in blood. Panic flooded through him as he franticly wiped his hands on his sleeves, as though it would wipe the memory away, after a few seconds he stopped; the blood was gone, not a drop of crimson in sight.

Mike stared at his hands as though they were playing some cruel trick on him, which he wouldn't have minded if it was any other day.

“What's up Ross? Forgot how to use your hands?”

The snide remark came from one of the other associates that had taken to doing anything Louis asked, including making comments at him. Tucking his hands out of sight, Mike looked up to rail off an insult of his own (he'd picked up some fantastic comebacks since working with Harvey) only to fall silent. The problem with having an eidetic memory, he found, was that sometimes it would replay its self at the most inappropriate of times; this being one of them. 

If his memories of that night were beginning to creep in so he saw it on the people he worked with, he needed to leave and quick. Ignoring the calls from the others, Mike made his way past several people, mumbling apologies, but not daring to look at anyone. Once in the relative safety of the elevator he let himself relax slightly, leaning back against the wall. Why had he fallen asleep at work? Why hadn't he gotten himself home where he could tuck himself away for the day? Told people he was sick, anything other than being at work and failing to keep certain things private. 

Of course he knew why, he didn't want to disappoint Harvey, he'd done that too much lately what with the mock trial. Yet it seemed that his own memories weren't going to let him escape, each crash, each scrape of metal against metal he'd heard all them years ago were echoing in his head. The smell of leaking petrol, the warm sticky feeling of his mother’s blood on his hands; they were so ingrained on his mind that he almost felt like he was going crazy. It was almost like they had happened yesterday and if he really put his mind to it he could remember every conversation he'd had with medical staff straight after as well. Every. Last. Detail. 

It wasn't something he could forget and he hated it, hated that it made him want to curl up and not move for several days, HATED, hated that no matter what he did he still at times wished he'd died right along with his parents As the lift reached the ground floor, Mike could feel the hollowness of grief start to grip him again, just like it did each year. Stepping out into the lobby, he ducked his head and tried to make it look like he wasn't about to break down and cry. He didn't care what anyone thought just then, he was going to go home and try his hardest to forget that on this day at 1.30 in the afternoon, there were two less people in his life.

******

He wasn't really aware of his surroundings, several hours later, having drunk about three packs of beer on an empty stomach. Trevor had always called him a lightweight when they'd gone drinking together, he wasn't sure if that had something to do with all the pot they'd smoke or that he was a fairly thin guy, either way it meant that getting drunk was always a bit cheaper for him than most. Not that the drinking was helping any, in fact it seemed to be making the memory more colourful. The reds, browns, blacks and even the odd yellow were merging together until he was unsure if he'd fallen to sleep again. 

So he sat there, five hours later, head in his hands, half empty bottle on the table, lights off and phone thrown on the side behind him in an attempt to avoid any drunk dialling. He knew he'd get scolded the next day, probably with another puppy analogy from Harvey, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was feeling as twisted and broken as the car he'd been pulled from and if the faded scars gave him a twinge, reminding him of their presence, making sure he hadn't forgotten, who was he to deny that feeling? 

That was his penance for surviving the accident, it was his burden to bear because he could still clearly recall complaining loudly – for ice cream no less – at his parents. His fault. His fault. It was all _his fault._

The banging on his door, almost knocking it off its hinges, made him look away from his drink, frowning, he just stared at the door, no one would come round, _no one_ , not today. Mike didn't have anyone that _cared_ about him in the city to come round. 

“Mike! Mike, open the door! I know you're in there, because you're certainly not at your desk or standing in my office with the files you were meant to have sorted last night!”

That was Harvey's voice; Harvey was stood at _his_ door, knocking on it like he was moments away from breaking it down. Something tightened in his stomach at that, Harvey shouldn't be there, Harvey should be back at the office ignoring the fact that Mike wasn't there. Mike just stared at the door, not moving, he could almost imagine Harvey shifting uncomfortably on the other side waiting for Mike to open the door. If it had been any other day and if he'd been in any other mood, Mike would have found it amusing that Harvey had come looking for him, as it was he just wanted to be left alone. Alone to be with the recording of his own memories and guilt; that's all he wanted.

Getting unsteadily to his feet Mike stumbled his way to the door, kicking the table and a stray bottle as he did so, reaching the door he leant his head against it, “Go away,” he replied, voice scratchy like he'd not used it for years.

“Can't do that. Now open the door,” Harvey wasn't about to leave just by some muttered words through a piece of wood. 

“No,” he was being churlish, he knew that, but right then he didn't really care. He wasn't at work and Harvey was not his boss in this instance. 

Mike didn't care that he was making Harvey stand in the apartment’s hallway, in his three piece suit, didn't care that he was supposed to do exactly as Harvey told him. All Mike cared about was making the flashes of memories stop for one moment, just one moment, so he could take a breath and relax. 

He didn't quite hear Harvey's reply, as he rested his hand against the door as though he could feel Harvey through it. Some part of him realised that no matter how much protest he was willing to put up, Harvey was not going to be leaving him alone any time soon. Pushing himself up right, faltering slightly as the door seemed to sway in front of him, he pulled the door all the way open, standing behind it to let Harvey finally step inside. Mike could almost hear the disapproval as Harvey stepped into his apartment, not bothering to try to hide the drunken mess he'd left. He just waited patiently for Harvey to say something, anything, and it seemed he didn't have to wait long.

“What's going on Mike?” Harvey asked, gesturing towards the discarded bottles.

Mike offered him a shrug, “Nothing.” What else could he say? He really was doing nothing other than thinking, and that most definitely wasn't a crime. He hadn't hurt, offended or disappointed anyone lately so surely that was a plus. 

Harvey gave Mike a once over, the kid didn't look high; just exhausted, “It doesn't look like _nothing_ , Mike, no one has seen or spoken to you all day and then Donna tells me you bolted from the building early this morning, to what? Spend the day getting drunk on cheap beer?” Harvey took a step towards Mike, unsure as to what was going on. “So what's really going on?”

There was anger twisting in Mike's stomach at Harvey's words, the other man had no right to walk into his, _his_ , apartment and start demanding answers, no right what so ever!

“What do you care? The great Harvey Specter, the one person who claims not to care about anyone or anything is worried about one of the associates, well isn't that just nice,” snapped Mike, his patience worn thin. He just wanted to be left alone, so much so that he hadn't shut the door yet, hoping that Harvey would take the hint and leave, trying to ignore that tiny, little part of him that hoped Harvey would stay. A part of Mike wanted to share exactly what was running through his head, to share the memory that was haunting him at that moment, but he just couldn't not right then.

“If you weren't so drunk right now, I'd fire you, which I am well within my right to do so, ” Harvey said, “So give me one good reason why I shouldn't?” He wasn't about to admit that there was a part of Harvey that had come to care for Mike. He just wasn't going to admit it out loud, not with the state that Mike had landed himself in. 

The anger in Mike left as soon as it appeared, even when drunk he could still tell the difference between a real threat and one told to get you to speak. “You wouldn't understand.” Mike was leaning against the door now, more than holding it open, there was the tiny spark of relief as Harvey fought to stay with him. 

Leaving the door ajar (he didn't exactly have the 'pop round unexpectedly for a drink' kind of neighbours) he made his way to the last couple of unopened beers. He was conscious of Harvey watching his every move, but it wasn't enough to deter him on his path to oblivion. Picking up a full drink he took the cap off and was about to take a sip when Harvey pulled it from his grasp.

“Hey!” whined Mike as the drink left his hand and held out of his reach.

“You've had enough. Now you can either tell me what's caused you to be this idiotic, _rookie_ ,” it wasn't said nicely, “Or I take this with me and leave you to sober up on your own. Your choice.” explained Harvey. 

Mike tried to figure out which of those choices was worst; if he told Harvey what had happened then he was sure that Harvey would be disappointed; again. Yet if tried to let Harvey leave, he'd be left with no drinks in the house, well he could make his way to a pub or one of those stores that stayed open till late. The decision was an unfair one, whichever way he chose, and he got the feeling that he was beginning to pout a bit.

“If I tell you can I have my drink back?”

“No.”

Crossing his arms Mike said, “Then leave. I can get more drinks later.”

Harvey sighed, “Mike,” pinching the bridge of his nose. Really could the kid get much more stubborn?

“I told you to leave me alone before you came bursting in here,” Mike replied, frustrated with Harvey's lack of cooperation. Of course he knew if he hadn't been drinking he'd find it less frustrating, maybe, actually no everything about Harvey frustrated him. “I don't want to see you or anyone for the next few hours, Harvey, please?” Great now he was reduced to begging. 

“And if you pass out?”

“I haven't had _that_ much, Harvey.”

“No? Then why have you not looked me in the eye once? Not to mention the whole not standing up straight, I know when you're lying Michael. You might be able to remember _everything_ , but I know you and you're drunk.”

Mike tried to stand up straighter and look Harvey in the eye, but straightening himself up made him feel uncomfortable, and trying to focus in on Harvey's face made him feel dizzy. He also couldn't help flinching as Harvey mentioned his memory, which was why he was in this mess; because of his wretched memory! Sighing he shifted away from Harvey to – finally – close the door, no need for everyone to hear what he was going to say. 

“Fine, but once I've told you I want my drink back.”

“Okay,” Harvey replied, finally taking a seat on the edge of the sofa. Harvey had no intention of actually giving Mike his drink back, no matter what he said.

Mike paced back and forth running a hand through his hair, now he had Harvey's full attention, and wasn't that just a intimidating thing to hold Harvey Specter's full attention, he didn't know where to begin. He could recite several pages of some file he'd read flawlessly, but when it came from his own memories he found himself stumbling over his own tongue. How was he meant to explain that he could still smell burning rubber from the tyres? That he could remember each crunch of metal and bone mixed together? That he could still hear his own pleading ringing in his ears as he'd been cut free? Or even the fact that every time he closed his eyes he could see it all in crystal clear clarity like he was in that moment once more, with his parents. How could he even explain all that to a man that had told him repeatedly he didn't care?

Shaking his head Mike said, “No, you know what forget it, you wouldn't understand.”

“Is it worse than getting high while at work?”

Mike gaped at Harvey, like he'd just grown another head, “What? No! Harvey I wouldn't do that again!”

“Is it worse than our arrangement?”

“No! I don't see what either of them has to do with this?” Really what was Harvey trying to do?

Sitting forward Harvey replied, “If it’s nothing worse than those two things then I’m sure I'll understand.” 

Mike stared at Harvey, really why was Harvey trying so hard to figure out what was going on? He thought Harvey knew everything about him, _everything_.

Biting his lip, Mike folded his arms across his chest, “It’s not just stuff I read that I remember really well. Well most of it is, but there's ... other stuff I can remember just as well,” he stopped talking; this was more difficult than he thought. He'd never had to explain this before, his grandmother never asked and he'd never the heart to tell her, and Trevor, well Trevor didn't care about that kinda stuff. God he really wanted another drink.

“Mike,” prompted Harvey.

“Right, right. You know that I lived most of my childhood with my grandmother and then Trevor right?” He was rambling, he knew he was but he couldn't just come out and say it. The more he spoke though, the clearer the images became, he closed his eyes trying to block them out. It was getting harder to speak around the suspicious lump in his throat.

“There was an accident, your parents died in a car crash,” answered Harvey; he'd done his homework on his young associate. Despite everything that had happened that day in the hotel, he wasn't about to just hire anyone, even if they did have an eidetic memory. 

Mike nodded, wishing that once again he could just forget, “I...” words really were escaping him. He sank down to the floor, his back against the hard wall, ignoring Harvey's look as he crumpled his suit. “Harvey,” he wasn't sure what he was pleading for exactly, he just knew he was. 

“You were in the car with then,” finished Harvey, he was beginning to understand some of Mike's behaviour now. He saw Mike nod in reply and he couldn't help the pang of sympathy that went out to the kid. “You remember everything? Every last detail, locked into your mind and you decided to what? Drink the memories away? No one can forget that stuff Mike, no one.” When did he become the voice of concern? He'd been spending too much time around Mike, it was making him soft. 

“This date,” whispered Mike, afraid that if he spoke any louder he'd break something; namely himself.

He wasn't sure exactly what he was expecting Harvey to do, but when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he finally looked up. Harvey was crouched next to him, offering help any way he knew how and Mike felt the memory disappear slightly. 

“No one could forget that stuff, kid, photographic memory or not,” said Harvey just as quietly, pulling Mike to his feet, “Come on, get up, get yourself sobered up, sleep and tomorrow will be better.”

Mike let himself get pulled to his feet, standing as close to Harvey as he dared, everything was confusing once more. Harvey was being so nice to him, almost like he cared and hadn't just dismissed him like so many others. He tried to form some kind of response, but it just got stuck in his throat. Mike knew that in that although is memories would stay with him, something had eased inside him at Harvey's words, his chest didn't feel as tight as it had; a burden had been shared. 

Pulling his arm free he tried to take a few steps, but he caught his foot on something, stumbling right back into Harvey's grip.

“Okay time for bed, rookie, don't think that you can come into work hungover,” Harvey said, steadying is rather drunk... _friend._

Mike couldn't quite keep the smile off his face, as Harvey helped him to the bathroom. He might not be able to forget everything (there were some images he was sure he wouldn't be able to erase) but he didn't feel like he was being dragged under to the hollow emptiness of grief that would usually be clawing to get out at that moment in time. After he'd gotten himself changed into some slacks that he'd thrown off in his haste to get to work the previous morning, he stepped back into the main room and Harvey was there waiting for him. Shuffling from foot to foot, Mike let himself be led to the bed and he sat down with a bit of an oomph.

“You don't have to stay, Harvey,” he said, arranging a pillow so it was behind his back. He really didn't seem to have the energy to fight against Harvey now and he knew he'd let Harvey do whatever he wanted right then.

“Get some sleep, Mike,” replied Harvey. 

Mike found himself staring again at his boss, realising that Harvey really was going to stay right there in his apartment to keep him company. Something warm curled in his stomach, chasing away the cold that had dogged him all day. Sitting on the bed, he watched as Harvey pulled a file from his briefcase (the one he hadn't noticed earlier) somehow, something had changed between the two of them that night and Mike could feel it. He knew if he hadn't been drinking so much, there would have been things said that would have made changes permanently to how they worked, as it was he'd have to wait till the morning. It wasn’t long before he gave in to the pull of sleep, unaware of Harvey carefully covering him with a blanket; all he knew was that the horrific memories from earlier weren't as prominent with Harvey's presence nearby.

**Author's Note:**

> Was written for laylabinx over on LJ, at the Suits Meme, for this prompt: 
> 
> So obviously eiditic memory can have some draw backs, right? I mean remembering EVERYTHING, even the things you don't want to remember...
> 
> Mike remembers every single detail of the night his parents died. Every. Single. One. Usually he manages to keep it all in and deal with it on his own but every once in a while something triggers the memories and he just falls apart. Enter Harvey who happens to see the breakdown one day and does his best to pick up the pieces.
> 
> Author can decide if Mike was actually IN the car the night his parents died or if he just remembers the phone call/police visit/ etc. Either way I would love to see some major h/c


End file.
